To Peace and Forgiveness
by Vanilla Mochi
Summary: It may had been eight years ago, but time is not healing factor for everyone. But perhaps the Wall could change that.


**A/N: Okay, let me explain: this is a major rewrite from 'To Peace and Forgiveness'. I was looking it over again and I couldn't help but cringe at the writing. So I rewrote it and added some more scenes. Hope you enjoy it!**

April 30, 1995

Nothing ever changed. Twenty years should've changed something, yet everything was still the same. The same day. The same area. The same people. Their matching solemn expressions. And America, standing on the cobblestones, in his bomber jacket with a bouquet of roses. Weather varied from rainy, dark storm clouds to bright blue skies with the sun too bright to see anything without squinting.

But nevertheless, America was still there, bearing a certain heaviness, a certain mourning and regret that came around only once a year. Just like the start of that day, he was the first to arrive there to reflect and vaguely wonder if he had failed his people years ago. People would then pour in. The veterans walked (or rolled) to the Wall to see their reflections. Whether they came every year out of repentance of the atrocities or to find their peace again, America did not know. However, what he did know was, that he vowed to never let a tragedy like that happen again. Too much blood had been spilt for reasons that never concerned them in the first place. It had been America and his government's foolishness that involved them.

In the veterans' footsteps, the loved ones followed them gravely. The wives sniffled, rubbing their eyes with tissues, while the children, still too young to know the truth, would clutch their parents' hands in support.

As far as America knew, no other nation was attending the event. They all knew better than to bother America on this day. Canada and England had shown up once. Although they got the vibe that perhaps America didn't want any support. And so, no one dared to bother him on this day.

A breeze rustled the tree leaves behind him. It didn't carry though, any debris from the trees towering above the Wall. Typical- the staff usually trimmed them to the uttermost perfection.

He let the bright sunlight filter through his fingers as he saw a piece of the clear sky. Not a cloud was in sight. A bird soared above, alone; probably a hawk or a bald eagle. How ironic for the last of its kind to appear today. But either way, it circled the area in search of prey before moving on, realizing it wouldn't find any food here.

Two staff men, dressed in full-blown black, hulled a podium to the front of the wall, positioning it so the insignia of the United States faced the audience. Another followed them and after placing the mike in the stand, tested it with two taps.

When they left, the Mr. President, accompanied by two bodyguards, each equipped with a gun and shades, walked up to the make-shift stage. His movements were taken in strides as he smiled at his audience.

"Testing, testing, one, two, three…" said Mr. President, now behind the podium. That got the crowd's attention, for people began to back away from the Wall back to the grass.

The noise died down and all eyes lay on the president. He took a deep breath. "Good morning, fellow Americans. Today, we have gathered here…"

It was the same speech every year; by now, America had memorized it: they were gathered here today to honor the lives of 60,000 men lost war. The wording was different with each new boss, but they all conveyed the same message.

Ronald Reagan was the first, America remembered: one of the oldest presidents, yet one of the most genuine if not the most trusted and well-loved.

Reagan had spoken the same words when the Wall was first revealed, but America had not been listening. Still, he was haunted by the memories of the war, the blood and most of all, her. Yet, back then, it was not the memories that distracted him but rather, another attendee who stood shoulder-to-shoulder. They were no soldier. And he didn't know if they were a dove neither. But they were a citizen and though they had no first-hand experience, they understood.

_November 13, 1982_

_Their name was Maya Lin._

_The first time America heard the name was when Reagan announced it as the winner of the national contest. Just from hearing the name, he knew, without a doubt, she was Asian._

_Just like her. _

_The first time he meets Maya Lin, was November 13, 1982- the opening debut of the Wall. The public official preceding Reagan had not mentioned her in the acknowledgements. That was probably for her safety- even America had heard of the harassment Ms. Lin endured for her design being chosen._

_And yet, she was here, after meeting with Reagan a few days before. The president insisted on her attending, even if she wouldn't be reveled (or snubbed) there and by the end, Reagan assigned Alfred as an unofficial bodyguard._

_"Just in case," Reagan had told Alfred and winked, "You can't be a hero if you don't defend the innocent."_

_Reagan was standing behind the podium now, where a canvas-covered monument towered above. He started speaking, but did not capture Alfred's attention like everyone else's._

_"Nervous?" Maya asked in her five foot, something glory. She wore jeans and a hoodie just like him- save the bomber jacket though. He jumped. For a moment there, he thought she was an enemy, hidden in the darkness. A strained smile slipped on._

_"I should be asking you that. You made it, after all."_

_"But are you?" She pursued, gazing at him blankly. _

_He looked away, unable to meet her eyes and muttered, "Maybe." Of course he was. This was more than a piece of architecture- it was payment for the veterans. For the young men and women forced into this conflict, forced to give up their golden years, forced to experience things no one should ever know of. And the very ones his people refused to welcome back with open arms."What about you?"_

_"You could say I am," admitted Maya. Her hands clasped together as she looked at Reagan again. "Not many people liked the idea. It's not patriotic enough. They wanted to glorify the men's sacrifice; I can't do that. That'd be an insult to all the soldiers. Does bother you?"_

_"Should it?"_

_"I would think it will. You are our country after all," Maya stated matter-of-factly, "This was created to honor the fallen- us, your people. They considered my design to be a reminder of their failures over there."_

_"My people no longer trust the government," replied America, listening the lull of applause, "Glorifying the soldiers' sacrifice would just be another lie." He sighed, looking down, "I'm sick of lying. They deserve nothing more than the truth now."_

_"Then I hope this will reflect the losses we've all had."_

_A few seconds passed. "Yes."_

_Reagan stepped away from the podium to join the rest in the front. From afar, America could see the old man shivering from the chilling breeze November usually brought to the city._

_The podium disappeared and the canvas billowed above DC's newest addition._

He sighed, running his fingers off another name. 60,000 names carved with a chisel into a slab of pristine black granite. They were scratches, scars America felt that never quite disappeared. Though the dull aching returned from a decade before, seeing his boys honored lent some peace to America.

He dared not to look up. He closed his eyes and remembered the mutilated bodies and blood-curdling screams. Could he do this? It was a question that he voiced every year. Could he see them without breaking down? Think of it as an annual reunion without feeling the guilt?

There weren't any promises he could guarantee.

He opened his eyes.

_"What do you see?" Maya brushed him in the shoulder. He kept silent, eyes never wavering._

_For once, he's at a loss for words. "Them." He chokes out. "Her."_

_So maybe he was staring at his reflection in the Wall like a slack-jawed idiot. England would probably chastise him for doing so. He sucked a deep breath of air reaching a hand out. To anyone else, he was just a man. Just a man, alone, touching the Wall with the tips of his fingertips, tracing the chiseled names._

_But he wasn't._

_Because beyond that wall, America sees more than just names. He sees faces. He sees bodies. Moreover, he sees his fallen beyond the wall. Not a single one has a burn or a cut or a bloody torso. And they each wear a toothy grin while waving to America in uniform. Their guns are missing too._

_Shocked, he slaps himself, to see if he's hallicunating. He's not; he glances behind._

_There's no spirit looking over his shoulder. Nothing but trees and grass._

_They're still there when his gaze returns. But this time, the soldiers seem to have crowded him as if they expect America to see, find something._

_And then he spots it, stiffening. It's her. She- a petite woman in a green ao dai. Silky black hair tied back with a lotus for decoration. Her skin is clear, free of all the burns and scars and anything the wars had given her._

_His feet start moving on their own, pushing through the ghostly apparitions of his comrades. They don't seem to mind as they smirk, muttering beneath their breaths. He only slides to a stop when he is but a few feet away. _

_Panting, he swallows a lump of air while Texas goes astray. Should he say something? He doesn't beckon her closer._

_Not that she needs it. She closes the final distance with light footsteps on her sandals. Her breath tantalizes him as his heart throbs. A gentle flowery scent inflames his nose. Those gold eyes of hers are still as piercing as the last time they met, face-to-face. _

_She doesn't say anything immediately. Gold eyes scrutinize him with impartiality as she reaches a hand up to his cheek. Her fingers run over a forgotten scar; the touch is gentle and he can feel warmth radiating._

_His breath hitches._

_Her eyes narrow._

_ "We are both at fault, America." She says in perfect English, closing her eyes. The accent is still there, but the tone holds no accusation. "And we have both made mistakes."_

_"But even so," she continues and opening her eyes, slowly, she breaks into a smile. It's not rowdy like his men but of the tender sort. "That was then and this is now. It is time to let go. Smile, America… please, I forgive you."_

_The wind howled, tangling his golden mane. He blinked, glancing around._

_Maya was gone; she probably went home- few people, mainly veterans, traveled along the Wall. A sunset shone its rays on the granite. The streetlights molded in cobblestones began to illuminate the pathway. He could see the little light specks floating._

_He looked back at the Wall. They were still there, but not her. He smiled softly._

_"Yeah… I forgive you too."_

_He sincerely hoped those words would become a reality._

"I thought I would find you here."

He frowned. There was no need to look behind- the Wall already mirrored her with a bouquet of cherry lotuses. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be celebrating? Back there? Today's your birthday."

She came up behind him and shook her head. "No. That can wait. I came to pay my respects… to your soldiers." She knelt, placing the lotuses at the foot of the Wall, where letters, bouquets of roses and photographs laid.

"You didn't have to," he commented bitterly, "I was the one who sent them to their deaths. They hurt you. You and your people."

"But you were not the only one responsible," she countered, standing up and dusting her dress. "And besides, though it may not have given the best results, they had good intentions. You had good intentions."

"I guess." America shrugged nonchalantly. He was still so focused on his reflection he almost didn't register Vietnam's arm brushing against his own.

He stiffened before realizing she wasn't the enemy. And that they weren't as hostile anymore.

No matter how subtle he was, however, Vietnam never missed it.

"Do you…still regret it?" She asked suddenly.

America flinched. "Huh?"

"Are you still bitter over it?" _Over what happened back then?_ The words hung over like rain clouds.

He took a deep breath, pondering for a moment. This was the moment he had been waiting for- the moment since he saw her beyond the Wall. "No."

"No?" _Are you sure?_

"No."

"What about me?"

"You?" he shot back benignly.

"Do you resent me?" she said again, looking unnaturally vulnerable. _Do you still hate me?_

"I did," America admitted, "At one point, but I realized something."

He faltered- did he always get this tongue-tied around her? She was so blunt, never the kind to sugarcoat her words.

"I wasn't the only one hurting. And I wasn't the only one bitter either. You were too. Probably even more."

"That doesn't answer my question," she said curtly.

"I was getting there." He sighed, casting a glance her way. He placed his hands to his hips. "And besides, it's like you said. That was then and this is now. It's time to let go, Vietnam."

"I don't remember telling you that," was her only response.

"You did," America countered, amused.

"I did not," argued Vietnam, who furrowed her brow, concentrating. "I'm pretty sure I did not."

"You still did. I remember it perfectly." He claimed. She rolled her eyes. "Hey! I did!"

"I still don't believe you."

"Nothing's wrong with that. Ahh…" He stretched his arms, looking up. "Looks like they're starting to close up."

"It is getting late." Vietnam pointed out. A variety of red, orange, and yellow painted the sky, while the sun rays polished the Wall in light.

"We should probably leave now. Gotta let them do maintenance and stuff." His stomach growled. "Hey, Viet?"

"Viet?" She questioned distastefully.

"Yeah, Viet!" exclaimed America, more enthusiastically. He whirled to her, "Wanna have dinner with me?"

Another noise. Blushing, she began to fidget. For a moment there, America could almost imagine they were just two normal people. Just a boy and a girl.

"Okay," Vietnam finally said, albeit flushed, "But where?" She cocked her head to emphasize her point.

"Well… we can have…"_ Hamburgers of course!_ "Pho, if you want. I know some good restaurants around here. C'mon." Offering a hand, he saw the distance shorter than ever.

"Wow, you have the correct pronunciation," Vietnam commented. She grasped his hand between her own.

"But…" A rare smile crept on. "That would nice."


End file.
